Page 12 of The Crimson Princess
It’s a question meant to taunt, an attempt to play on my raw emotions, and I do not take the bait. I reach for my fork and cooly say, “You’d be smart to remember that. We should eat while the food is hot.” I taste my pie and savor the tangy spices, but as I watch Bellar sample his food, I cut my gaze toward my father, who winks at me. Apparently, he’s pleased with me, and as much as I resent him, the little girl inside me still feels aglow with his praise.
Bellar is polite enough to rave over the food, and there is small talk. I assume the political talk comes later. “What kinds of creatures did you face guarding the portal with your mother?” he asks, and this feels like a size-me-up kind of question.
“Nasty ones,” I say simply, unwilling to allow him more detail. “What about you? What’s been your most daunting challenge in battle to date?”
“You’d be surprised what we’re capable of conquering in the great caverns.”
Their legendary training grounds, set in another world, I think, well aware of the dangers that live in that land. “Must be nice.”
“Nice?” He does not sound pleased. “What’s nice about death traps?”
“The chance to learn before you face a real enemy. It’s not a luxury I was ever allotted.”
“Are you suggesting my experience is less than yours?” His expression is indiscernible, but his question reads combative.
“You tell me? Is it?” I shove a bite of buttery crust in my mouth. A girl has to eat, after all.
“There are many who do not make it out of Druid Mountain,” he clarifies. “Why don’t you come give it a try?”
My father clears his throat, but I jump in before he can shut me down. “I’m in, but on one condition.”
I didn’t take his bait, but he does mine. “And what would that condition be?”
“You compete in the Challenge next week. If you win, the Book of Life has officially accepted you as part of our world.”
I expect my father to immediately object, but he actually chimes in with approval. “My daughter is quite brilliant. That would certainly unite our people.”
Bellar sips his wine, seemingly nonchalant, but I can feel his magic curling in the air and quivering about, a sensation I’ve known only in battle as my enemy falters and then attacks. “I must respectfully decline,” he says coolly, setting his glass down on the table. “I’m the future of the druid. Should I die or end up at some human portal, I can’t serve my people.”
“My mother competed,” I remind him. “One could argue the book that sees all knew she would as well, and expected the outcome.”
“Your mother is dead, and forgive me for that bluntness, princess. I mean no offense, but it’s relevant.”
“None taken,” I assure him, and for the first time in my life, I recognize the freedom that not living under the gauntlet of theChallenge represents for the druids, and I question who really won the war.
“Send a representative,” my father suggests, or rather, presses.
“I’m not telling my people we’ll be sacrificing our young,” he states immediately. “That’s not the way to unite our people and avoid another war.”
In this moment, I respect Bellar and his need to shelter his people. It’s an action worthy of a future king. There’s a shift in energy, and my gaze lifts to the path where Ronan, my father’s personal attendant, appears. My father’s attention is already on him, a hint of surprise in his eyes that is there and gone in a mere breath. He motions Ronan forward, and, gentleman that he is, once Ronan is beside my father, he apologizes for the interruption before he discreetly whispers in my father’s ear.
For a moment, my father is unmoving, but there’s a slight tightening along his jawline that I know all too well, the younger me an expert at earning his wrath. He’s bordering on eruption, and he eases into his seat and simply says, “Young prince, I regret the need to end this dinner early. We have an unexpected guest that requires our attention, but please stay and enjoy the full meal.” My father is already standing.
I hesitate and offer my own apology. “I’m disappointed. I was hoping we could chat more later.”
“As was I,” he says, his eyes warming. “Can I take you to breakfast in town tomorrow morning?”
“It would be inappropriate during the Tribute, but I’d be pleased to have you join me here.”
“An invitation I happily accept. What time?”
“Seven?”
“I’ll be here.”
I push to my feet, and he stands, offering me an incline of his chin and my father a formal goodbye. “I hope everything is well. If I can do anything to aid you…”
“There are many things you can do for me,” my father states, “starting with your respectful handling of my daughter.”
